Taking Sides Page #16

He watches David read. David is engrossed. Almost

imperceptibly, he shakes his head.

EXT. BERLIN STREET - DAY

A half-ruined café with tables on the sidewalk. WERNER,

the timpanist, SCHLEE, the oboist, and two others seated

at one of the tables, drinking coffee.

David carries an attaché case and walks towards the café.

He scans the people at the tables, sees the musicians and

approaches. They stand.

WERNER:

Lieutenant Wills.

David nods

WERNER:

Herr Schlee, timpanist, Herr Romer,

cello and Herr Schmidt, viola.

They are willing to help. We have

already ordered ourselves coffee.

I hope you...

DAVID:

Yeah, of course.

WERNER:

The whole orchestra will vouch for

him. He was always there to support

us.

DAVID:

We need names, if possible with

addresses, because it's urgent.

Names of musicians saved by Dr.

Furtwängler, people he helped to

escape abroad. Let's go somewhere

public.

David leaves money on the table and then walks off with

the four men. They talk as they make their way down a side

street.

INT. DYMSHITZ'S VILLA - NIGHT

Steve and Dymshitz sit opposite each other and clink vodka

glasses. They have been drinking but are not yet drunk.

DYMSHITZ:

To co-operation.

They drink. Dymshitz pours more vodka.

STEVE:

I was in Vienna. I had with me an

Austrian chauffeur, Max his name

was, he spent time in the camps.

We were looking at these Viennese

cleaning up the bomb damage,

scavenging for rotting food, butt

ends, anything. I said, 'To think

a million of these people came out

to welcome Adolf on the day he

entered the city, a million of

'em, and now look at 'em.' And

Max said, 'Oh, not these people,

Major. These people were all at

home hiding Jews in their attics.'

You get the point, Colonel? The

point is they're all full of sh*t.

DYMSHITZ:

Furtwängler's in a different

category.

STEVE:

We're dealing with degenerates

here.

He is still for a moment, then grabs the bottle and pours

himself a drink, downs it. Dymshitz watches him, then:

DYMSHITZ:

Degenerates?

INT. ANOTHER ROOM, DYMSHITZ'S OFFICE SUITE - NIGHT

German modern paintings stacked untidily.

Dymshitz, carrying a vodka bottle and his glass, shows

Steve the paintings. Steve, too, has a glass.

DYMSHITZ:

A great artist will have great

privileges in a Russian zone.

STEVE:

That's why he didn't get the hell

out of here when he had the chance!

I put that to him, he couldn't

answer. Why didn't he go and direct

in America, like that Italian,

Toscanini.

Dymshitz pours vodkas, raises his glass, drinks. So does

Steve. Now, their moods swing with the drink.

Dymshitz drinks; then sits, sinks into his own world.

DYMSHITZ:

(lost for a moment)

Perhaps... perhaps he believed he

could at least try to preserve

something important, things like

an orchestra, a school. That's his

country. Maybe he has an old mother

who can't be left alone. Maybe he

has brothers, sisters... you

can't...

A forlorn look at Steve. His eyes are misty, he is visibly

drunk.

STEVE:

(a wry smile)

Colonel. He had no sisters, no

brothers, only a lot of love

affairs.

DYMSHITZ:

Anyway, Major, why should he leave

his country, his mother tongue,

his family, his history, his past,

his future, just because now,

suddenly, there is a dictatorship?

Why?

STEVE:

But what... before that turns

rotten... What if they surround

the space with barbed wire, Colonel?

DYMSHITZ:

(suddenly exploding)

Don't talk about things you know

nothing about. He was in a

dictatorship!

STEVE:

(dismissive)

Yeah, yeah, art and politics, yeah,

yeah, I heard all about that.

DYMSHITZ:

(angry)

In a dictatorship, art belongs to

the Party. If you want to be a

conductor, you have to have an

orchestra. And you can only get an

orchestra if you have contact with

the power. All over the world you

need the right contacts and you

have to make the right compromises.

Rate this script:0.0 / 0 votes